Quarters
by Big J Bonk
Summary: (Part 7 of Perfect AU) P.K.O. convinces T.K.O. to go halfsies. Obviously, he didn't really think that one through. Oneshot. Now with official cover.


**Here we are with another oneshot! If I had known I could bust out another one before Halloween, I would have made this a Halloween-themed story. Or maybe I would have just written something else before writing Corruption, I dunno. :P After the absolute mammoth that was the last story, this one is relatively short, so hopefully it will be easier to digest.**

 **Not much else to say, except read on!**

* * *

It was a Saturday morning like any other. An artificial sun rose over three small houses, casting a relaxing orange glow. Its rays filtered through every window, gently rousing the occupants from their slumber.

Although, naturally, T.K.O. wasn't one to do things gently. He turned and groaned as a bar of light passed over his face, covering his head with a pillow in a meager attempt to gain just a few more minutes of precious sleep. It was no use; his brain knew it was daytime, and refused to let him return to his dreamless state. Having already decided that the day was terrible, T.K.O. chucked his pillow at the offending window, the action immediately followed by a mighty yawn. Smacking his lips, his eyes lazily drifted open, which were met with a pair of chipper gold.

With a startled yell, T.K.O. pressed his back to the wall behind the bed, arms raised and ready for a fight. Once he registered who the intruder was, he lowered his fists, though his scowl only deepened. "P.K.O., what the heck are you doing in my room?!"

"Sorry, sorry," P.K.O. waved him off, his grin showing that he was anything but. "I was gonna wait in the living room, but you take forever to wake up, so I thought I'd come and get you. It's like noon, you know."

"I like to sleep in," T.K.O. groused. "But you can't just break into people's houses like that!"

"I didn't break in. The houses don't have locks."

T.K.O. narrowed his eyes for a moment. "Mine has one now. What do you want, anyway? It better be good, if you thought standing over my bed was a good idea."

If the gripe made P.K.O. uncomfortable in light of recent events, he didn't show it. "...Well, you weren't planning on doing much of anything today, right?"

T.K.O. squinted at him. "I'm not giving you my turn. I have a show on today."

"No no no, I wasn't gonna ask for your turn," P.K.O. assured him. "I was just wondering if we could maybe... share it?"

T.K.O.'s eyes bugged out of their sockets. "Don't tell me you want to fuse?!"

"No, nothing like that!" P.K.O. laughed. "If we did that, it would probably just make this place even more crowded than it already is. What I wanted to ask is if you'd be okay with going halfsies today."

"Halfsies?" T.K.O. relaxed somewhat, but was clearly still unhappy. "Why would I wanna do that? K.O. and I did it once, and we could barely walk without stepping on our own forehead. That was beyond frustrating."

"But you make up half of me, remember?" P.K.O. reasoned. "To an extent, I know what you're thinking and feeling, so moving shouldn't be too much of a problem. And you can still watch your show, I don't mind watching with you if you don't. So whaddya say?"

"...You're scheming something," said T.K.O. "I don't know what, but you are."

"Am not," P.K.O. huffed. "Not everything I do has some ulterior motive, T.K.O. Isn't 'I'm bored' a good enough reason?"

"For this? No."

"...Okay, look. I won't even ask for the whole day, just a couple of hours. We'll hang out, do whatever you want, I don't care what, then I'll get out of your hair. You'll have the entire weekend to yourself, so what's one afternoon?" T.K.O. didn't back down. "...I'll let you take the right."

T.K.O. stared for a long time, letting P.K.O. squirm for a bit. Eventually, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "...Two hours. That's it. The second I say you're out, you're out, and you shut up about it and never ask me to do this again."

"I promise!" P.K.O. grinned.

"You better," T.K.O. grumped. "Get the machine ready, would you?"

P.K.O. nodded eagerly and scurried out of the house, jumping onto the roof and summoning the control panel, all in the space of a few seconds. For all the things P.K.O. was inferior to his components in, it turned out that he was the best at altering the subconscious, to the point that summoning food or furniture was nearly effortless. T.K.O. would never admit it out loud, but it made him a little jealous.

Once T.K.O. was properly dressed, he joined P.K.O. on the roof, taking note of the console. It had a few more buttons and levers than he remembered, but otherwise it appeared to be the same white box. "I thought I'd make some changes to make things easier," P.K.O. supplied helpfully.

"Easier? How is adding buttons supposed to make things easier?"

"They're marked now," P.K.O. beamed proudly. A quick look at the panel showed that, indeed, most of the buttons had text or images signifying their purpose. To T.K.O., it only looked like more clutter, which was decidedly _not_ helpful.

He hoped this wasn't an omen.

The moment P.K.O. walked up to the platform, the static over the viewport lifted as the real body awoke, awaiting input. "You ready, T.K.O.?"

With a long-suffering sigh, T.K.O. walked up as well, hands anticipatedly hovering over the various controls. "Ready."

(~)

"Teeks, time for breakfast!" Carol called, carrying a plate with a heaping tower of hot and fluffy waffles, topped with banana slices and whipped cream. She listened for her rambunctious son's telltale footsteps, but they never came. "T.K.O.?" she tried again. This time, there was a loud crash and indecipherable yelling. Immediately alarmed, Carol dropped the waffles and ran to her son's aid, though she never could have expected the sight before her.

T.K.O. was completely alone, or at least someone who looked and dressed like T.K.O. His left eye was a shimmering yellow-orange, and his hair on that side cascaded down his back in waves, but was just as wild as ever. Even his wristbands were mismatched. Currently he was floating in the air, encased in a mustard-colored aura, contorted in a way that had to be painful. The wall-mounted shelf next to him was crooked, with half of its contents on the floor. It was obvious that he had knocked it over in his flailing attempt at flight, but it still didn't explain what, exactly, she was looking at. "...T.K.O.?"

With a surprised squawk, the T.K.O. lookalike crashed to the ground, taking the rest of the shelf with him. "Mom! I-I can explain!"

"I would hope so," said Carol. "You nearly gave me a heart attack when I heard you yelling!"

"Don't worry, I can tell you what's going on," her son replied, getting to his feet and raising his hands in a calming gesture. "I don't want you to freak out, but T.K.O. and- / Buzz off, you sound like some dweeb from one of Rad's dramas! / I'm trying to let her know there's nothing to worry about! / Saying 'don't freak out' is _exactly_ how you make someone worry!"

"...Is talking to yourself something I should worry about?" Carol asked hesitantly.

The lookalike wiped one hand down his face, groaning in annoyance. "P.K.O., just shut up and let me explain... Look, P.K.O. and I are just sharing. It's different from fusion, but it's manageable. I didn't really want to, but he roped me into it."

"...Uh-huh..." Carol hummed. "So does this mean I should be expecting another son pretty soon?"

"No, thank Cob," T.K.O. snickered, earning him a self-inflicted slap on the arm courtesy of P.K.O. "Hey, I resent that, you know!"

"Easy, boys," Carol chided. "Boy? Boys? Hmm... Well, in the meantime, what do I call you?" After a moment of thought, she gasped, dropping a fist into her upturned palm. "I know! How about Teekaboo?"

"Really? Teekaboo?" P.K.O. parroted in the subconscious, indignant. "What is it with her and the cute nicknames? Like Peekaboo! She could have called me something cool, like Pick, or Sparks, or... I don't know! But nope. Had to be Peekaboo."

"If you hate it so much, just tell her," T.K.O. deadpanned, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"...But she likes to call me Peekaboo," P.K.O. mumbled, blushing sheepishly.

"Why don't you come down for breakfast?" Carol suggested. "I made waffles with bananas and whipped cream, your favorite, Teeks!" She put a hand to her lips. "Oops. I mean _Teekaboo!_ "

"Teekaboo" rolled his eyes. _I guess it's better than T.P._ , thought P.K.O.

As Carol headed back to the kitchen, thoroughly amused, Teekaboo followed her, stumbling the entire way. "Didn't you say this would be easy because you can read my mind or something?" T.K.O. demanded.

"I never said that," P.K.O. replied. "I said this would _probably_ be easier because I _kind of_ know what you're thinking. But I'm not a mind reader, that would be stupid. It's more of a gut feeling than anything."

"Whatever. This _isn't_ easier." T.K.O. gestured to the control panel. "And all these buttons really aren't helping."

P.K.O. cheerfully pointed at one button. "You see that? That's your step button. Just push it whenever I'm not pushing mine, and we'll walk."

T.K.O. swatted his hand away, glaring. "This is really dumb."

"You didn't _have_ to agree to this," P.K.O. said with a shrug.

Eventually, the pair managed to maneuver Teekaboo into the dining room, where his still-warm waffles were already waiting for him. He sat down heavily in his seat, grabbing his fork and inhaling mouthful after mouthful. Being a one-handed task, it proved surprisingly simple.

"How are they?" asked Carol.

"They're really good, mom," P.K.O. said into the microphone between bites.

"Liar. You can't even taste them from here," T.K.O. groused.

"Yeah, but she doesn't need to know that," P.K.O. replied. "There's no reason to upset her."

"You're such a suck-up," T.K.O. teased.

"I'm like, four months old. Let me appreciate my mom."

Once breakfast was finished, Carol left Teekaboo to his own devices. After a short internal debate over whose toothbrush he was going to use, he went to his room, steering clear of the walls lest he knock something else over. "So what did you wanna do, huh?" asked T.K.O., resigned.

"I already agreed to do whatever you wanted to do," P.K.O. shrugged. "What do you usually do on the weekend?"

T.K.O. quirked a brow. "Wouldn't you know?"

P.K.O. scoffed. "Please. I have better things to do than watch you brood to some 'blood and darkness' emo band."

"It's vampire metal," T.K.O. grumbled.

Despite his distaste for the genre, the topic gave P.K.O. an idea. "Hey, I know! Why don't we play guitar? That's something we both like to do."

"How would that even work?" asked T.K.O. "We don't like the same kinds of music."

"Well, there's gotta be some overlap somewhere," P.K.O. said with a thoughtful frown. "...Do you like Contagious Fungus? Seems niche enough to be your thing."

"Too psychedelic, not enough crunch," T.K.O. complained.

"...Okay," P.K.O. hummed. "Then what about Luminescence? I _know_ you like at least a few of their songs."

"Pff, how would you know? Unless..." T.K.O. gasped dramatically. "You snooped through my playlist, didn't you?!"

"Once or twice," P.K.O. chirped. "But I actually learned that when I was channel-surfing about a month ago."

"Channel-surfing? Do you really expect me to buy that?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised what you'll find on K.O.-vision," said P.K.O. "Did you know you can watch daydreams on it? I never knew you'd consider hanging out with Joff, of all people."

T.K.O. threw his hands in the air. "Does the word 'privacy' not even register in your head or something?!"

"I didn't hear a denial."

Steam was practically whistling out of T.K.O.'s ears. "He barely talks! That makes him less annoying by default! And who I do or don't decide to maybe spend my time with is none of your business anyway!"

"So, Luminescence?" P.K.O. suggested, getting back on track before T.K.O. lost his cool completely. "I've learned a handful of songs. How about it?"

T.K.O.'s jaw clacked shut, settling into a fierce scowl. "...Fine. But seriously, stay out of my brain."

"I literally can't help it," said P.K.O., to the alter's irritation.

Teekaboo slowly made his way to the bedroom door, where the acoustic guitar lay propped against the wall. He took special care in picking it up, his components making absolutely sure that they were on the same page; while the guitar technically belonged to P.K.O., he often let T.K.O. use it (not that permission was ever asked for), so neither wanted to break it by accident.

Once the guitar was secured, Teekaboo sat back down on the bed, fiddling with the strings to ensure that the instrument was in tune. "You ready?" asked P.K.O.

"Ready," T.K.O. nodded.

Teekaboo took a calming breath, placing his fingertips over the frets. He raised his right hand, bringing it down across the strings. To no one's surprise, the note was incredibly sour. "You're on the wrong chord," said T.K.O.

P.K.O. glanced to the side. "Oh, you're right! My bad, let me fix that... Okay, now try again."

T.K.O. did, and the sound that resulted was equally grating. "Are you sure you really know how to play this thing?" he griped.

"I had the right chord this time," P.K.O. replied coolly. "Are you sure it isn't something on _your_ end?"

T.K.O. scoffed, offended. " _My_ end?! I saw where your fingers were. You weren't even on the right strings!"

"I was too," P.K.O. countered. "The first song on the album calls for an F chord."

"The first song on the... That's the worst song on the CD! Why is _that_ the song you'd pick?!"

P.K.O. gasped. "First of all, I love that song. Second, it's one of the few songs they've made that I know how to play. And third, what were you doing listening to my CDs when you have your own music to listen to?!"

"Why were you listening to my playlist when you have your own CDs?!" T.K.O. shot back.

P.K.O. groaned loudly. "Just play the dang F chord."

"No," T.K.O. huffed petulantly. "We do what _I_ want, remember? So I say we're starting with a B flat."

"I don't know any songs that start with a B flat," P.K.O. argued, "and this was my idea in the first place. So _I_ say we're playing an F."

"Fine, then," T.K.O. growled. "If you're not gonna do it, then I will!" At that, he lunged for the controls on P.K.O.'s side of the panel.

P.K.O. jerked forward with a start. "Wait, don't-!" He grabbed T.K.O. and pulled him back, just as the alter had grabbed onto the lever. As a result, Teekaboo pulled hard at the strings, and with a loud _twang,_ two of them snapped.

Both of the boys stared wide-eyed at the four-stringed guitar, dead silent. And then, T.K.O.'s face got beet red. " _Now_ look what you did!"

"What _I_ did?!" P.K.O. challenged, raising his own voice to match. "You don't see me messing with your side of the controls, do you?!"

"Only because you weren't listening to me!" T.K.O. shouted. "If you hadn't pulled me, that wouldn't have happened!"

"Don't you dare try to pin this on me! This is all _your_ fault!"

"Well, if _you_ hadn't had this stupid idea to begin with, I could've been playing guitar on my own, and you wouldn't have broken it, and we wouldn't be arguing about it in the first place!"

P.K.O. recoiled, as if struck. Then, all at once, he deflated. "...You're right."

"Glad you see things my way!"

"No, I mean it. You're right." T.K.O. faltered at the sullen admission. "This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't talked you into it. So I'll back off. Go have your day. I'll buy new strings later." With a wave of his hands, the console disappeared.

T.K.O. didn't seem so happy with being handed his victory. "Wait, what do you think you're doing?!"

"Giving you your space," P.K.O. told him, stepping backwards until he was floating beyond the edge of the roof. "We could probably both use it."

(~)

An hour or so later, T.K.O. was laying on the bed, K.O.'s phone in hand; he and P.K.O. didn't have their own yet. He sluggishly went from app to app, changing contact names and moving pictures and music to the incorrect files. He knew that K.O. hated when he did that, but he couldn't care less. He needed the distraction. It was better than smashing the desk or something, at any rate.

Just as he was moving a picture of a bowl of spaghetti to the "cute animals" folder, he felt a gentle tug on his consciousness. K.O. trying to get him to knock it off, no doubt. T.K.O. growled, shoving the sensation back. To his chagrin, the feeling persisted, despite his best efforts. After a few minutes of this, T.K.O. was tempted to go in there and give his alter ego a piece of his mind.

No sooner had he thought that then the sensation stopped. T.K.O. sighed harshly, glad that K.O. seemed to have gotten the message, and resumed messing with his phone. However, his thumbs refused to budge, seconds later moving of their own accord. T.K.O. snarled; usually, K.O. waited until his turn started on Thursday to reorganize his things. Well, T.K.O. could humor him. He could always mess it up again when he's through. "You're on really thin ice, chump," he muttered aloud for good measure.

To his dull surprise, K.O. left the gallery app entirely without touching any of the folders. Instead, he pulled up the memo app. Annoyed but curious, T.K.O. watched as his counterpart typed out a single sentence.

 **I need to talk to you.**

T.K.O.'s eyes widened. That wasn't K.O.

With an agitated yell, T.K.O. warped into the mindscape, grabbing P.K.O. by the collar of his shirt and lifting him off of the ground. "What kind of stunt are you trying to pull, huh?! Saying you'll give me space, and then dragging me back here, what's up with that?! Are you really _that_ compelled to lie about every little thing, or are you just that bad at-"

"I'm sorry."

T.K.O. cocked a fist. "Oh, you're gonna be!"

"I'm sorry," P.K.O. repeated firmly, fixing the angry preteen with his piercing yellow gaze.

After a few seconds had passed, T.K.O. barked a laugh, roughly shoving P.K.O. away. "Really? _That's_ what you called me in here for? You already said you'd buy new strings, but if you think I'll forgive you just because of that-"

"That's not what I'm sorry about," P.K.O. cut him off. "That was still your fault. I'm sorry because... I wasn't totally honest with you this morning."

"Shocker."

"Seriously, can you please just-?!" P.K.O. stopped himself, taking a long, steadying breath. "Look, I'm not trying to argue with you, alright? So just... listen to me for a minute.

"When I told you this morning that I wanted to go halfsies, it wasn't because I was bored. It was because, well... Okay, you and me, we fight all the time. Put us together for two minutes, and we've probably fought over five different things. But I don't _want_ to fight with you all the time. I _hate_ that we don't get along. Yeah, I know I tease you a lot, but I really don't dislike you. But it's so _easy_ to lose my temper when it comes to you. I just wish that we could talk for once without getting so mad at each other.

"But that's why I wanted to go halfsies. I guess I thought that, if I put us in a situation where we _had_ to agree and get along, we just... would. But obviously that backfired terribly." T.K.O. didn't say anything. "...So, yeah. I just wanted to come clean. You can go back to reorganizing K.O.'s phone, I guess."

But T.K.O. didn't leave. Instead, he just stared at P.K.O., expression unreadable. Just as the fusion started to feel uncomfortable, T.K.O. sat on the ground, holding P.K.O.'s gaze until he did the same.

"So you _were_ scheming after all. Just not in the way I thought." P.K.O. didn't respond, instead pulling up his knees. "...I don't hate you. I never hated you. But that doesn't mean I trust you. I'm trying to take K.O.'s advice, I'm _trying_ to trust you, but I can't. You've lied, you've taken advantage of people, and you include _just_ enough truth that everything still makes sense. That isn't something I can just forget about, especially since you _still do it._ Don't even try to deny it. How am I supposed to talk to you when I don't know what is and isn't a lie, huh?"

P.K.O. drew in closer to himself. "Yeah, that's fair... It's just, I was so scared, before. If I'd told the truth to Rad and Enid, I would've had to go away, and I had no idea when I'd come back. I don't have anywhere to go when you guys aren't synchronized. Even those brains you set up barely hold me together. I know I don't really have to worry anymore, but it's scary. I want to stick around as long as I can, and before, that meant making it seem like everything was okay, and now everything really _is_ okay, but I don't think I can _stop._ "

"You're overthinking things," T.K.O. cut in.

"I know..."

T.K.O. sighed again, long and low, his only means of conveying the magnitude of his suffering from even having this conversation. "Look, I get _why_ you did what you did, I'm not saying I don't. But things are different now, so that's gotta stop. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I gotta know you're actually trying, got it?"

P.K.O. smiled just a bit at that. "Got it. From now on, I'll try to be one hundred percent honest, even about the little stuff."

"Oh yeah?" T.K.O. sneered, the twist to his lip not quite managing to hide a mischievous smirk. "Then tell me what the P stands for."

P.K.O. blinked at the odd request, averting his eyes. "Don't you already know?"

"K.O. and I agreed on P.K.O., but it kinda just came to us," T.K.O. replied. "I bet you named yourself or something. What is it? Spill."

"Can I take it back and say I'll be ninety-nine percent honest?" T.K.O. shook his head, grinning evilly. P.K.O. puffed out his cheeks, blushing in embarrassment. "Okay, fine... It means 'perfect.'"

"Perfect, huh?" T.K.O. repeated. "Pretty full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Can it, Turbo," P.K.O. huffed.

"Yeah, yeah," T.K.O. grunted, quieting after a moment. "...Don't think I'm forgiving you or anything, but my show starts in like, twenty minutes. We could watch it together, if you want. Or not, I don't care either way."

"...No way," said P.K.O., lips quirking upwards. "Are you actually trying to be nice to me?"

"Course not," T.K.O. grouched. "I already told you I'd give you a chance. I'm just being the bigger person."

Before he knew it, T.K.O was wrapped up in a suffocating hug. "You won't regret this, I promise!" P.K.O. cheered.

T.K.O. shoved him away. "Hey, back off! I still kind of feel like punching you in the face, you know."

"Oh, you weren't emotionally compromised enough for hugs. Got it."

"I think I'm taking back my invitation," T.K.O. grumped, crossing his arms.

"Wait, no, don't do that," P.K.O. said quickly, waving his hands around. "I'd really like to watch TV with you. It'd be really hard to screw up sitting on a couch, anyway... Maybe _that_ was what we needed all along. Something we could just _do._ "

T.K.O. wrinkled his nose. "Or maybe you're reading into it too much."

"Yeah, probably. But am I wrong?"

"...We'll see," T.K.O. hummed.

Twenty minutes later, Teekaboo sat in the living room, wrapped up in a blanket, totally engrossed in the flashing lights and violent sound effects emanating from the screen before him.

P.K.O. wasn't wrong.

* * *

 **Just a friendly reminder that these are indeed children who will argue over anything and everything. All you twins and close siblings probably understand.**

 **This was a pretty interesting concept to write, even if Teekaboo was pretty much purely a plot device. He popped into my head a few weeks back, and I figured it was a good way to puzzle out the T.K.O.-P.K.O. dynamic established in Three's A Crowd. I tried sprinkling in explanations and hints as to why they butt heads so much both here and there, and knew I wanted to elaborate on it, while possibly working towards mending it (most of these have turned out to be fix-it fics, haven** **'t they?). I wish I could have gotten them to talk more, but T.K.O. was still mad. He's just gotten better at listening to people before beating them up.**

 **Now to explain the title. While I refer to their halfsies form as Teekaboo, I officially named him Quarters K.O., or Q.K.O. The reasoning for this is pretty much solely that he's only a quarter K.O. Likewise, a halfsies situation with K.O. and P.K.O. would be called M.K.O., or Mostly K.O. I'm creative.**

 **Any guesses on the music and junk I referred to? There's no prize if you're right, but I really want to know who my Contagious Fungus fans are. XD**

 **I haven't started writing the next oneshot yet, but I already know what it will be. I'll be including some major revelations, some of which are canon, others merely headcanon (though it's pretty much all stuff the fandom as a whole generally agrees on, don't worry), and it will hopefully open up a potential oneshot or two somewhere down the line. I don't know how long it will be, but I can probably have it up before Thanksgiving.**

 **On that note, see you then!**


End file.
